It's no secret I've never thought Sinatra to be the world's greatest singer ever. Or even the greatest singer of the 20th Century. Or the greatest Italian-American singer ever. Or even the greatest singer in the Rat Pack. Sometimes his voice annoys me to the point of skipping past it with a growl.
And sometimes, it fills me with joy, the kind of joy that bubbles up from somewhere inside before becoming a fit of the giggles. Today is one of those days. It started last night, on downloading 'Somewhere My Love' (Lara's Theme from Doctor Zhivago with words) by him. So now I'm listening to Songs For Swinging Lovers, the first Sinatra album I ever bought aside from My Way: The Best Of Frank Sinatra, which doesn't really count cos it's a best of. I originally bought it for two reasons: It's a classic, and secondly because it's got 'It Happened in Monterey', which Pacino-as-Satan mimes to in Devil's Advocate (the only good bit).
It's times like this that I understand why Sinatra was a star. When the whole lot is together- his voice, Nelson Riddle's arrangements and orchestra, great songs, he is almost unstoppable. Personally I don't think that Sinatra on his best day compares to Dean Martin, but I know I'm in a minority there. But there is still something incredibly appealing about Sinatra's voice, be it pre-Ava or post-Ava. For the uninitiated, his falling in love with Ava Gardner and leaving Nancy for her coincided roughly with him losing his voice and career. When his voice returned to him, it was a really very different voice. Deeper, rougher, smoother. In the 1940s he sounded a lot like a sweet, wistful young man, but by the 50s he sounded like a life-worn man. The Bobby-Soxers' Frankie of the 40s could never have brought the same humour and emotion to the songs on Songs For Swinging Lovers or the same heartbreak to Only The Lonely.
It's a tired old theory I suppose, but I don't think it's a coincidence Only The Lonely, one of the saddest albums I've ever heard, was recorded in the aftermath of the Sinatra-Gardner marriage. There are so many legends and myths surrounding Sinatra, but I don't think anyone would question the depths of his love for the beautiful Miss Gardner. It's a tired old theory, but the reason Only The Lonely is so wonderfully melancholy isn't because the songs are great (although they are), it's because this singer really knows what he's talking about. That's the amazing thing about that record and about everything he did in the 50s- he really did know, and so we really did believe him. We still do.
A lot of the Sinatra stuff I like less is the Rat Pack/Vegas era. He's too cocky, too arrogant and 'I'm SINATRA!' for my tastes. In the 50s he had something to prove, now in the 60s he's too busy being the big I Am. Dean and Sam's music from the time has humour about it, but Sinatra was never good at laughing at himself and always took himself a touch too seriously. It's another of the reasons I will always rate Dean above him. The music gets too 'wow!' by the 60s and 70s, and I do not like, will probably never really like, a lot of the later Sinatra stuff. The 'My Way' and the endless comebacks stuff. Maybe it was a reaction against rock n roll- by becoming more swing, more easy, more lounge. None of it really stinks, but none of it reaches the dizzy heights of what the man achieved in the 50s, and even the bobbysoxer king era of the forties.
So, there are some days I can hardly stand his voice, can hardly bear the way it grates against my nerves. These are the moments I flick his music off with a growl and a 'You're not Dean, piss off!'. But then, there are days like this, when Sinatra fills my heart with joy, when his voice reverberates right through my ribcage. These are days I love. Although he is not Dean, although he winds me up some days and although I think he was personally a bit of git, there is a corner of my heart reserved for the Chairman of the Board. It is reserved for days like this, when Frankie's voice fills me from tip to toe, from toe to tip. Days when the sun is shining, the band is swinging and Frank is singing.
For a time, Sinatra touched greatness, and we should be grateful that the evidence has been left behind in a string of albums to blow your mind.
How do you like them apples, Robbie?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
